Whisky, Wars, Riots and Murder Page 19

  10

  Savage Assaults

  Assault is one of the crimes that never disappear. It was common in the nineteenth century and it is common today. Whatever the image of the peaceful Highlands, there were assaults committed there as well, both on the streets of the towns and in the quiet glens.

  Assault by the Army

  On 5 July 1804 James Speirs, a cotton spinner at Cromwell Park, had gone to the fair at Perth. It was quite late when he left, walking back home along the turnpike road. He passed the toll bar just outside the town shortly after eleven when he became aware of rapid footsteps behind him. Before he could turn, three men dressed in the red coats of soldiers were around him. One punched him to the ground, and as he lay there, all three rifled his pockets. They snatched a silver stopwatch and his pocketbook and purse with fifteen shillings in silver and banknotes, then ran away, leaving him dazed on the road. The stopwatch did not belong to Spiers but to his foreman, who had loaned it so that Speirs could check and regulate a piece of machinery.

  When Speirs recovered, he woke up the toll keeper, who helped him into Perth to report the attack. The authorities asked the usual questions and arrested three soldiers who had been out of barracks that night – Corporal John Battersby and Privates James Kean and Patrick Connor.

  The three soldiers had been drinking in Millar’s public house in Perth until late on the fifth, leaving just before eleven o’clock at night. For the next hour or so their movements were unknown, but around midnight they came to the brothel of Mrs Jones and demanded entrance. Mrs Jones’ daughter Mary and another friendly lady brought them to the garret, where they bought five mutchkins of whisky. Miss Jones noticed that the corporal paid for the whisky from a purse in which there was also a silver watch.

  All five left Mrs Jones’ house, but Connor wandered away before they came to an equally unsavoury establishment run by a man named Taylor, and drunk porter and more whisky. When they were here, Battersby dropped and then hastily scooped up a red pocketbook. They returned to Taylor’s pub and once again Battersby dropped the pocket-book. At around five in the morning, when drink had chased all sense from the soldiers, Battersby began a fight with Kean. He accused Kean of stealing five shillings and a watch from him. Kean denied everything and when two constables arrived, Battersby withdrew the charge.

  On the morning of the sixth, a small boy saw two soldiers throw something over a garden wall, and being a boy and therefore naturally inquisitive, he investigated and found two silver coins. He told his elder brother, who informed their father. Next morning both boys climbed over the garden wall. They found a purse, a silver watch and a small collection of silver coins, which they gave to their father. The father was an honest man and handed everything to the authorities. At that time, every quality watch had an identification number, which showed that the legal owner was Mr Speirs’ foreman. Battersby, Kean and Connor were arrested and clamped in Perth Jail; there was not enough evidence against Connor so he was released, but Kean and Battersby were locked up. They were to be tried at the September Circuit.

  However, neither soldier was inclined to meekly await his fate, and a few days before their trial, they broke free and ran. Kean was never seen again, but Battersby was recaptured at Bridge of Earn and hauled back to jail. His trial took place in January 1805, but despite all the evidence, the jury could not reach a verdict and the case against him collapsed.

  Horsewhipping a Magistrate

  Sometimes cases of assault captured the attention of the propertied classes. This was more often the case when one of the persons involved was from that strata of society. When both parties were gentleman and the case involved a public whipping, then they read the accounts with fascination and no doubt there were discussions around the breakfast table as to just how much the newspapers missed out and the gossips put in.

  On 9 March 1831, George Cameron, an Inverness solicitor, brandished his dog whip outside the front entrance to the Northern Infirmary. He waited until Lachlan Mackintosh of Raigmore walked past, then took the whip and lashed Mackintosh over the head and shoulders. Mackintosh, a magistrate, tried to defend himself as best he could with his umbrella, so the good people of Inverness had the entertaining spectacle of two respectable gentleman fencing with dog whip and umbrella in a very public place. After just a few moments, both men had lost their hats and a dozen people had gathered to watch the fun.

  Eventually a number of the spectators decided to intervene and pulled the combatants apart. Cameron called Mackintosh a ‘low scoundrel’ and told him to remember that he had been horsewhipped and to ‘take that for the abominable lies he put in his paper’.

  As usual, there was a backstory to the assault. In this case, Cameron thought he had been sufficiently provoked to retaliate in such a manner. Mackintosh had written a letter to the Inverness Journal, in which he attacked Cameron’s person and character in strong terms, but signed the letter ‘A Subscriber’, which was not entirely accurate as he was the proprietor and editor. Cameron had stalked up to Mackintosh and demanded to know if he was the author of the letter, before he launched his assault.

  Despite the whip and umbrella, neither man had been injured. Mackintosh entered the infirmary to take part in a manager’s meeting, and no doubt Cameron continued on his way with a feeling of smug satisfaction and having meted out retribution. However, Mackintosh did not let matters rest there and took Cameron to court.

  The case came to the Inverness Circuit Court in May 1832. The Lord Advocate decided he could not prosecute a case where he knew the contestants, but the jury were told that the offending letter had handwritten amendments in Mackintosh’s writing. They heard that Cameron was a man of sterling character, and then they heard the contents of the letter. It mentioned that Cameron had tried to unite the two Inverness newspapers, but said that he had done it for the worst possible motives.

  When the Lord Justice Clerk summed up, he called the letter ‘the most scandalous libel’ and the jury must have agreed for they found Cameron not guilty, despite the testimony of the men who had witnessed the assault.

  Free-Fighting Seamen

  In the nineteenth century British seamen had a reputation for drunken violence when ashore. The dock areas of most port towns and cities were places best avoided by respectable women and men, and Inverness was no different. At the beginning of January 1884, seamen from the London-registered steamer Morvern met in a serious affray that ended up with a mass brawl, a stabbing and two arrests. Morvern had arrived at Thornbush Pier in Inverness on Wednesday, 29 December 1884.

  As was not uncommon with British seamen, the crew spent the next few days drinking, so by the time they had returned on board and were ready to depart for Leith, the drink had taken hold of them and some began to quarrel. John Tyndall, the mate, gave an order, some of the crew refused to obey, strong words became harsh and the mate threw a punch. Within a few seconds there was pandemonium as most of the crew joined in, punching, kicking and swearing nautical oaths.

  When he saw the fight was becoming serious, Captain Whittaker slipped ashore to get assistance, but John Macdonald, one of the crew, followed and knocked him to the ground. Whittaker struggled free and managed to find the police.

  In his absence the fight became even fiercer. A group of the hands followed Tyndall below and attacked him. Outnumbered and out-muscled, the mate drew his knife and lashed out, stabbing John Douglas of Glasgow in the back. Shortly after the stabbing the police arrived and arrested both Tyndall and Macdonald. Macdonald was fined £5 for assaulting both the master and mate, while Tyndall was released on a £10 bail.

  The Army Again

  From 1859 when there was a scare that the French might invade, the Volunteer movement swept the length and breadth of the country. For many of the men, joining the Volunteers was a social event, while some perhaps genuinely believed they were serving Queen and country. However, it was not always harmonious within the ranks, and sometimes there were disputes. In the summer of 1891 some
of the Volunteers of the Kirkhill area of Inverness had a minor dispute with Colour Sergeant MacFarquhar. At that time, the colour sergeant’s house doubled as the unit’s armoury and the men were gathered there. Three of the privates – Thomas Fraser, Andrew Fraser and William Chisholm – attacked MacFarquhar with fists and boots. The colour sergeant drew his sword but still the three privates pressed hard on him.

  The sergeant backed off a little, but reached for one of the rifles that were handy in their ranks. He pointed it at the nearest private and squeezed the trigger so there was a massive bang and a flare from the muzzle. As the weapon was only loaded with blank cartridges, there was no major harm done, except to further anger the privates.

  Chisholm also grabbed a rifle, levelled and fired, which precipitated more shots from MacFarquhar, so the house was a crashing crescendo of rifle fire and reeked with smoke. Chisholm was the angriest of the privates and shouted out that they should load with ball cartridge and finish off the business there and then, but the arrival of the police put an end to things before there were any serious casualties.

  The three privates were arrested and charged with assaulting MacFarquhar, but when the case reached the sheriff court in Inverness, Sheriff Blair sided with the privates. He found them not guilty of assault, but fined Chisholm seven shillings and six pence for breach of the peace. He also said that MacFarquhar’s behaviour had been ‘highly reprehensible’ and wished he was in the dock in place of the privates.

  Chasing the Attackers

  Charles Robertson was a hardworking carter from George Street in Inverness. On Tuesday evening, 9 December 1884, he visited a public house after his work. As he emerged, two young men approached him – John Taylor and Alex Kessock – and demanded he give them money for whisky. Robertson refused and tried to push past them, but they knocked him to the ground. When another man appeared, all three of them tried to go through Robertson’s pockets. He fought back and held them off until a passer-by shouted.

  The three attackers fled, but Robertson was not content to leave it there. He got off the ground and chased them, caught Kessock and held him secure until a policeman arrived. Kessock was given a £3 fine at the Inverness Burgh Police Court with the alternative of seven days in jail.

  George Street, Inverness

  © Author’s Collection

  Football players in the late Victorian period were also capable of rash actions. In 1896 John Macdonald was a baker but he also played football for the Caledonian Football Club. On 18 November that year he attacked a woman called Catherine Noble, threw her to the ground and laid into her with his boots. He was arrested and appeared before the police court, where Bailie Smith fined him £5.

  Given the sometimes foolish actions by some footballers of the twenty-first century, Macdonald’s actions are a reminder that people do not change. Violent crime is probably as common in the twenty-first century as it was in the nineteenth, and for the same reasons. However, religion could also lead to disputes.

  11

  Crime and Religion

  Although Protestants and Roman Catholics share the same Holy Trinity and basic Christian beliefs, sometimes their doctrinal disagreements led to physical confrontations in nineteenth-century Scotland. These disputes could be over major points of religion or over the route of a march, but there can be few such encounters over which denomination should hold sway over the last few minutes of a dying man.

  A Priest Tried for Assault

  The situation arose from a long-standing friendship and a genuine desire to help. Captain Ross was an elderly man. He was seventy-eight years old, lived in Fort Augustus and was married to Elenora. He was also a long-standing member of the Church of Scotland, but was very friendly with the Reverend John Macdonald, the local Roman Catholic priest. Macdonald had often attempted to convert Ross to the Catholic persuasion but Ross rebuffed him every time. However, as Ross grew older his mind began to wander a little and Macdonald pressed ever harder as he tried to gain a convert for his faith or, as he believed, tried to save a soul for heaven.

  On 10 September 1869 Macdonald called at Ross’s house ‘to have a crack about the old folks’. Elenora allowed him in, thinking nothing of it, until her husband suddenly announced, ‘Mr Macdonald, I wish to become a Roman Catholic.’

  Of course the priest was very pleased to hear that and grasped his opportunity, but Elenora was a bit concerned. She knew her husband was not himself, for if he was rational he would not have considered such a thing. Elenora thought this new desire was ‘nonsense’ but did not interfere as Macdonald had Ross say some prayers and kiss a ribbon. As the priest began to move onto more elaborate matters, Elenora stepped into the room and called a halt. Macdonald did not object and left immediately.

  When Ross’s mind returned to reality, he could not recall the priest’s visit. He became afraid and asked his wife, ‘Will you protect me and keep the priest and these Roman Catholics away from me? That priest has been trying to convert me for years.’

  Elenora agreed, of course. She wrote to the Reverend Macdonald, asking him not to call any more, and she thought the matter was closed. However, at about nine in the evening of 13 September, she was in her husband’s bedroom when she heard quick but quiet footsteps, and the priest slipped stealthily through the door. He was not alone, as Alexander Macpherson, a gamekeeper, and Donald Maclellan, an army pensioner, were with him.

  Undaunted, or more likely angered by the intrusion of three men, Elenora at once stepped forward and put out her hands and told them they were not allowed in. Alexander Macpherson had other ideas. Placing his hand on her breasts, he said, ‘I’ll force my way.’ He grabbed her arms and pushed her aside as he tried to storm into the captain’s bedroom. Elenora staggered, but she was not a woman to tamely submit to such bullying. She reached out, caught hold of Macpherson by the collar of his coat and his luxurious whiskers and held on tight, completely blocking his access into the captain’s bedroom. As the gamekeeper and the elderly woman struggled for mastery, Macdonald the priest said, ‘Lay hold of her and hold her fast.’

  The priest thrust into the bedroom as Macpherson twisted Elenora’s arms behind her back and held her there, in pain and with her nose scratched and bleeding. Not surprisingly, Elenora yelled for help, and John Fraser, the local lock-keeper and a near neighbour, ran in to the house. Macpherson may have been brave when fighting an elderly woman but he was not so tough against a man, and Elenora was soon free again. A second man named John Shaw had also heard Elenora calling for help and arrived just then. The third of the intruders, Maclellan, grabbed hold of him and knocked him onto a chair, where they wrestled.

  John Shaw’s wife heard her husband shouting and piled in to help him, so the room was a shambles of fighting men and women. As somebody grabbed hold of Mrs Shaw, she shouted, ‘Oh, my arm,’ and her husband said angrily, ‘Loose the woman! Do you want to kill her?’

  When Fraser had freed Elenora from Macpherson’s grip, she rushed to her husband’s bedside. The priest was already there; busy with his converting, and Elenora asked her husband if he wanted the priest to leave. When Captain Ross said yes, the priest said, ‘You see that? He wants me!’

  Elenora asked again, ‘Do you want the priest?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Captain Ross.

  ‘Do you want the priest to go away?’ Elenora repeated.

  Captain Ross said yes, but again the priest either misunderstood or twisted the captain’s words, and said, ‘You hear? He wants me!’

  At that point, Elenora began to get angry. ‘You lying scoundrel,’ she said. ‘Don’t dare you say to me that he said that.’ She again asked the captain if he wanted the priest, and again he said, ‘No!’

  John Fraser was next to ask Ross if he wanted to become a Roman Catholic and again Ross replied, ‘No, no.’

  Elenora took charge again, asking the Protestants to ‘rally round my husband’s deathbed’ to keep him safe from the Catholics. They obeyed her, facing the priest and his followers across
the recumbent form of Captain Ross, and then Elenora dashed to the fireplace and grabbed the poker. She moved to the head of the bed, brandished the poker and said loudly, ‘You Roman Catholics can leave the room.’

  Macdonald was not yet ready to submit. Rather than obey Elenora, he stepped to the Protestant side of the bed and said he had something to say to the captain. That was enough for Elenora. She hefted the poker and gave him a mighty swipe on the shoulder, and when Maclellan lunged toward her, she thumped him as well.

  Elenora realised the Catholics were afraid of her, so she followed them as they left, threw the poker after their retreating forms and slammed the door on their backs. A few moments later, a doctor arrived to attend to Ross, but also treated the cut on Elenora’s nose where Macdonald had caught her and the extensive bruising on her arms caused by Macpherson. Captain Ross died a short while later, with his wife ensuring he remained resolutely Presbyterian to the end.

  When the case came to Inverness Sheriff Court, the sheriff fined Macdonald £10 with the option of thirty days, while Macpherson and Maclellan were fined £2 or ten days.

  Misconduct in the Kirk

  The nineteenth century was a time of intense religious feelings in Scotland. There was the Great Disruption of the Church of Scotland in 1843 when the Free Kirk was formed from churchmen who could not agree about patronage, there were fears of the industrial towns being anything but Christian, and there was the furore that Darwin’s theory of evolution created. In the midst of all that, individuals challenged the authority of the local churches in various different ways. On 10 June 1838 a schoolmaster named Hugh Fraser created his own mini dispute in the church at Kirkhill, between Inverness and Beauly.